


Winter Weather

by exklusiv



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exklusiv/pseuds/exklusiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow has fallen in Kirkwall, and Hawke's merry band of misfits take a long overdue day off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Expressive elf ears are my favorite thing on the planet. Also: holy crap this is a behemoth of a story.  
> No mention of a holiday, but consider this my Christmas gift. Enjoy!

It took a lot for the weather to turn cold enough in Kirkwall for it to snow. It rained regularly and fog was guaranteed but snow was a special occasion. And for Hawke, who had grown up in Lothering, where winter brought a constant blanket of white, snow was a happy thing.

For others, the snow was something not so happy.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, Fenris! We don’t have anything to do today, and I can guarantee you it’s just as cold inside this drafty mansion. Look, I even have a cloak you can wear. Please come out with us!”

“And voluntarily traipse through piles of ice crystals, getting wet and cold? Have you gone mad?”

Hawke huffed and put her hands on her hips. “It never snows here. You have to come out with us. We don’t have anything to do today, by the grace of the Maker. Let’s have one day of fun.”

Fenris looked down at the snow from his window, then crossed his arms, his ears tilted back irritably. “Even if I did want to come outside, I have nothing to wear on my feet.”

“Easily remedied! Come on, quick run to my mansion and we’ll sort you out. Think your feet can survive the hundred feet between our doors?”

“I am going to die and it’s going to be entirely your fault.”

Hawke grinned madly as she gripped Fenris’ wrist and began pulling him through his house, leading him outside. Fenris’ feet touched the white snow outside his door and immediately began aching, both from the lyrium and the extreme temperature. He pulled his wrist from Hawke’s hand and stepped back into the threshold of his mansion, unsure whether or not his feet were ever going to be warm again.

“What is it?”

“I couldn’t suffer two steps of that, let alone over to the courtyard where your home is.”

“Do you still weigh the same you did when I met you?”

“I… don’t think I’ve put on any weight,” Fenris said, looking down at his frame. He still felt light and slender, like an elf, but had no real way of knowing. With a jerk, Fenris reached out and grabbed the pillar by his door when Hawke walked over and swooped him up in her arms, carrying him like a bride.

“Now, hold just a moment! Put me down!” Fenris said fiercely, feeling ridiculous and thrilled to feel the warmth of her arms. He pushed that back down inside of him as Hawke huffed.

“What would you have me do? I want you to join and you can’t walk barefoot in the snow.”

“At least… I don’t know, let me have the dignity of riding on your back instead of in your arms like some blushing bride.”

“I really don’t think dignity has any standing in our group of friends anymore, but if you insist.”

Hawke set him back down, then turned her back to him. Like he’d done it before, Fenris braced himself on her shoulders and hopped up on her back, legs wrapping around her waist. She grabbed under his knees and began trekking back to her estate, unperturbed by his weight on her back, not even stumbling on the stairs. Fenris’ heart raced at the proximity of her, and had to resist burying his face in her hair and inhaling.

The walk to her estate took both an eternity and was over too soon. Hawke opened the door and set Fenris on his feet, striding confidently up to her bedroom. Fenris went immediately to her fireplace, warming himself while she looked for the things he was to borrow. By the fireplace, Orana stared out the window with a tilted head and perked ears as Bodahn fitted Sandal with thick winter clothes. Everyone, it seemed, was ready to go outside and revel in the snow while it lasted.

Hawke appeared at the top of the stairs, hanging over the railing and gesturing at Fenris. “Come on, you have small feet, I have some boots you can wear. And take off the armor, we’re not fighting anyone. Put this cloak on, it has sleeves, so you should be fine!”

Fenris ignored the ache in his feet from the lyrium as he passed Hawke on the stairs. The elven servant Hawke had shown mercy to all those years ago looked at Hawke with contemplative eyes.

“It is cold outside, Mistress. I can even feel it from the window.”

“You should feel it from outside! I have something you could wear as well, Orana. You should join us. I’d hate for you to be in here all by yourself.”

“Is it a habit of yours to torture all elves with your fancies of frozen wastelands?” Fenris called from her room, pulling on the cloak. His feet felt oddly constricted in the boots.

“Please, Merrill was as happy as I am that it snowed. She’s probably out there already, irritating Anders.”

Orana hung her head, ears suddenly back nervously. “I don’t know, Mistress.”

“Dear Orana, you know I’ve told you to call me Hawke. It would bring me great pleasure if you joined us. Besides, you always say how noisy Minrathous was! This is probably going to be the only chance to hear Kirkwall just as noisy, though I think it’s going to be a different noisy.”

Fenris walked down the stairs towards them, buttoning the cloak and feeling like some wretched mage in their robes. Hawke was practically leaping in the air to get Orana to go outside with them. Fenris placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t push her too fast, Hawke. Getting out of the mindset of being a slave takes some time. If she’d rather stay inside, let her.”

Hawke sighed. “Alright, I guess I can accept that. Orana, if you change your mind, there’s some winter clothes in my wardrobe you are more than welcome to wear. We should just be out here in the courtyard, but if not, we’ve gone down to the market. And I know Bodahn and Sandal are sticking close to the mansion, just look for them.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Hawke smiled and looked at Fenris. “You ready?”

“No.”

“Good!” Hawke said, leading him to the door. Fenris felt awkward in the boots and heavy in the shoulders from the thick fabric of the cloak, and as soon as they were outside, something hard pelted him in the chest.

“Ooh! Ten points to me for being the first to hit the broody elf!” Varric said, dusting his hands off. “You look good, Broody, you ought to wear a cloak more often. Adds to this whole dour demeanor you have.”

“I’m going back inside.”

“No, you’re not!” Hawke said, pulling him into the fray. “Come on, look, everyone’s here!”

And she was right. Isabela was there wearing the most clothes Fenris had ever seen her wear; a long leather coat befitting the best pirates and pair of black gloves. She was making a pyramid of snowballs. Merrill was wearing something made of furs and was grabbing icicles off of awnings. Anders dutifully melted a pathway for people to use instead of trudging through the snow, with Sebastian keeping look-out for him. Aveline was there in her armor, authoritative, but looked like she was enjoying herself. Even Varric looked pleased, with a scarf and a closed shirt. All their companions were enjoying the weather while they could.

“It doesn’t snow much in Kirkwall, does it?” Merrill asked, examining a particularly long icicle. “Snowed every year in Ferelden. I’ve actually missed it quite a lot. How about you, Hawke? Do you miss it much?”

“It hasn’t been a proper winter without it, I think. Lothering used to be nothing but snow in the winter months. I once lost a shoe in a snowbank. Didn’t find it until spring.”

“I can’t say I ever lost a shoe, but there were things I lost in the snow. Oh, Creators, but how the Keeper used to have me digging to find them before we moved on!”

“You lost a shoe in the snow?” Anders said, rubbing his hands together before going back to melting the snow. “You weren’t far from your house, were you?”

“Farther than I wanted to be,” Hawke said, smiling. “But Carver was always stronger than me, and he carried me back so my foot wouldn’t freeze. I did for him something similar to what you’re doing now, so he didn’t have as much snow to tread through. Maker, but he couldn’t have been older than thirteen at the time.”

“You know, oddly enough, I think I miss Carver, despite how we never seemed to get along,” Anders said, frowning. “He had a good heart, if he wasn’t a little misguided.”

Hawke nodded. “He was stubborn as a dwarven merchant, surely, and thick as a pillar. But I do miss him, and Bethany.”

“I wish I could have met your sister,” Merrill said, pouting, her ears tilting down. “She probably would have been a lot of fun to be around.”

“You all would have loved her. Even you, Fenris,” Hawke said, smiling at the annoyed elf.

Fenris crossed his arms. “It seems a common occurrence that I have to associate with mages. Perhaps liking her would have made the time go by faster.”

“Oh, please, Fenris. We all know how much you like mages. One in particular,” Isabela said, smirking as she cocked a hip out and gave a pointed stare at Hawke. Fenris’ ears turned red, but Hawke looked amused.

“And here I thought Varric was the gossip of our group.”

“A title I am not likely to give up soon,” Varric said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Despite the competition.”

“It’s not gossip if it’s true.”

“But why would anyone tell just the truth?” Varric said slyly; he shared a look with Isabela that made Hawke think they were reading each other’s thoughts. It unsettled her.

The conversation drifted elsewhere as Hawke busied herself with gathering up the loose powder of snow and making a firm ball with it. Fenris shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I feel strange.”

Hawke looked down and could almost see Fenris’ toes moving inside the shoe. “It’s the leather, you’ll be fine. Have you ever eaten snow before, Fenris?”

“Have I ever what?”

“Eaten snow.” Hawke held out the snowball. “Nothing tastes quite like fresh snow.”

Fenris stared at the snowball like it had insulted him. “People have been walking in that.”

“No, not this part! You don’t grab near the footprints.” Hawke gestured a little more insistently. “Here, take some. Eat a mouthful.”

Begrudgingly, Fenris took some of the white snow she offered and placed a clump of it in his mouth. His teeth immediately wanted to start chattering and his tongue was frozen, but he sucked on the snow anyway, trying to understand what Hawke was telling him.

“It just tastes like water.”

“Yes, but cold, fresh water. Nothing at all like groundwater. You can taste how pure it is.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. One ear perked up higher than the other, as if emphasizing his expression. “Can I stop eating this now?”

“Maker’s Breath, Fenris, it’s like you’re determined to not have a good time.”

Varric strode up, the snow coming up past his knees. “Come on, Broody. My people aren’t built for anything but dirt and this snow is almost up to my eyes and I’m still managing to have a good time. I’m sure it won’t kill you to have a little bit of fun for once in your life.”

Fenris scowled. “How on earth can anyone have fun when it is so frigid outside? I’ve never been so aware of my ears, and that is not something I like.”

Hawke sighed, then took her handful of powdery snow and plopped it on top of Fenris’ head. The elf gave her a long look from under stern eyebrows as Hawke grinned at the flecks of snow camouflaged in Fenris’ already stark white hair.

“You should be more careful, Fenris, your hair will get all wet if you get snow in it.”

“Ooh, she got you good, Broody! Are you just going to take that?” Varric said, goading Fenris into action.

Slowly, Fenris bent down and grabbed a handful of snow. The freezing cold numbed his fingers and irritated his lyrium, but he compacted it into a firm ball anyway, raising an eyebrow at Hawke. “I give you until the count of three.”

“I only need two,” Hawke said, dashing off through the snow like an arrow. Fenris started chasing after her, finding his footing awkward in the snow. When he thought he had a good enough gain, he lobbed the snowball at her, smacking her in the back of the shoulder, where patches of white clung to the red wool of her long coat.

“Now, we are even,” Fenris declared. Hawke stuck her tongue out at him.

“Not even hardly.”

“Don’t even think about it!” Fenris said, holding up his hands as Hawke grabbed a handful of snow. She advanced on him slowly; Fenris was surprised to feel a blow come to him from behind instead of from Hawke. He whipped around and saw Isabela smiling at him, giving him a cheeky wink. It amazed him that, even with the snow, she still managed to wear something that gave her a long line of cleavage. The leather of the jacket was even skintight. Was she even capable of wearing clothes that did not constrict?

“Couldn’t resist.”

“You are not involved—” Fenris sighed deeply when another snowball hit him in the back. “Am I not allowed one second of peace, or am I to spend the rest of the day being harassed by snowballs?”

“Oh, it’s just a snowball fight, Fenris. Once you start thinking of it as fun instead of competition, it makes you a lot happier,” Merrill said, building up her collection of icicles.

“You be careful getting those down, Daisy. I’d hate for you to be hurt before spring when you really blossom,” Varric said, packing a ball of snow in his hands.

Merrill beamed. “I’ll be fine, Varric. But thank you for the concern.”

“Alright, that should about do it! They’re not pretty, but they’re pathways, and it gives people in a hurry easier access,” Anders said, admiring his handiwork.

Sebastian ran over, attempting to slide on his heels. “Ooh, and it’s not icy at all. I can hardly slide on it. You did well, Anders, and the Maker smiles on your good deed.”

Anders opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by a dead-locked snowball to the chest from Isabela, who had another two ready in her hands. He looked at her with a tired look in his eyes, then shook his head. “Oh, if I am to have no choice. At least let me throw one at Fenris.”

“You will not!”

“Give a mage enough freedom, and they’ll abuse the power,” Hawke said, smiling as she mocked the elf.

Isabela scowled and put her hands on her hips. “They’ll justify any means to get what they want.”

“Oh, you both sound like Fenris!” Merrill said happily, clapping her hands.

“That’s the point, Kitten. It’s called mocking,” Isabela said, batting her eyelashes.

Fenris held his hands up. “I thank you all for the frozen wasteland, but I am afraid I have pressing matters elsewhere.”

“Not today, you don’t,” Hawke said, dashing after Fenris before he could get a good start. Fenris tripped over his boots when Hawke jumped on his back, sending them both tumbling into a snowdrift. Fenris clawed out of it like a cat dumped into a bucket of water, ears perked in alert, ungraceful in his attempts to stand as Hawke laughed, her hair almost as white as Fenris’ from the snow. When Fenris was finally on his feet, he was cold and irritated.

“Are we done here?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, come here,” Hawke said, still laughing as she stood. She was covered in more snow than Fenris was and couldn’t stop the laughter in her voice as she dusted the snow off his clothes. Varric nodded his head towards them and shared another look with Isabela. Without a word, Isabela nodded and crossed her arms. Varric shook his head.

“Better?” Hawke asked, giving Fenris a once-over.

“No, but it will suffice. Here, I should return the favor.”

“He reciprocates, does he? Rare quality in a man,” Isabela said. Aveline sighed and rubbed her forehead, and Sebastian started muttering a prayer under his breath. Merrill tilted her head.

“Isn’t that the polite thing to do? She helped him first, after all.”

Isabela walked over to Merrill and picked up one of the longer icicles she had gathered. “I’ll explain it to you later, Kitten. Don’t worry about it too much right now.”

Anders cleared his throat. “Can I still throw a snowball at Fenris?”

Sebastian snorted. “Do you truly think that wise?”

“Yes, mage, do you?” Fenris said coolly.

Anders shrugged. “Let’s examine all the times I’ve been wise, shall we? Oh, look, we’re done.”

Aveline couldn’t help the chuckle that came out of her throat. Hawke laughed a little more freely, walking over to Anders and putting her hands on his shoulders. “Oh, come on, now, Anders, give yourself a little credit. You’ve done some wise things!”

“Yeah, like picking a slow-burn crazy spirit instead of a rage demon,” Varric said, shrugging.

“Besides, self-deprecation does not look good on you. In any form. Let’s get you proud and obnoxious about it, shall we?” Hawke said, smiling.

Anders shrugged. “I suppose I could take lessons from a Dalish on how to be smugly superior.”

Fenris laughed, trying to hide it with a cough as Merrill crossed her arms, ears slanted backwards in offense. “You and Fenris are more alike than you think! You two make the same joke about the Dalish.”

“Ugh, I think I need to bathe now. I don’t want to be compared to Fenris.”

“Forget a bath. Fire is the only thing that will cleanse me of the comparison,” Fenris said irritably, ears as slanted as Merrill’s.

Isabela pointed at both of the men. “Let’s not suddenly make this a cock-measuring competition, boys. It’s cold out, neither of you will be able to show off full potential. Let’s have a little fun, shall we?”

Anders rolled his eyes and Fenris crossed his arms. Aveline tapped her chin and smiled. “I think I have something that can aid in the fun.”

“You’re joking,” Isabela said, eyes wide.

“Not at all! Everyone should follow me to the keep. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

Aveline, it appeared, really did have a plan. She took everyone to the top of the stairs that led to the Viscount’s Keep, then had them all stay put as she ran inside. When she came back out, it was with two long shields, which she handed to Hawke and Anders.

“You two first, then? You can go alone or with a companion. I suspect that you’ll add a little ice on the way down, too, to make the shield go faster.”

“What am I doing with this?” Anders asked, looking at the shield.

“Well, we don’t have sleds at our disposal, but old, battered, out of commission shields? We have plenty of those. First one to the bottom?”

Hawke smiled. “I love it! Come here, Varric. I need my trusty dwarf.”

Varric smile as Hawke set the shield on the top of the stairs and sat down on it. “In front or behind?”

“You have a better eye for steering. In front. You going alone, Anders?”

Anders grinned, but Varric spoke first. “I think the angry spirit that lives in his head counts as a second, don’t you?”

“Of course, how could I forget about Justice?” Hawke teased, smiling at unamused scowl on Anders’ face.

They situated themselves on the shields, Varric gripping the leather straps of the shield to move them in either direction. Aveline held a hand up.

“Mark, set… go!”

Anders pushed off with his feet, but Hawke shot out a path of ice, then pushed herself and Varric forward with her force magic. The mage and the dwarf shot down the stairs, Hawke screaming in delight as they passed Anders, skidding and bumping over the steps. Anders caught up to them, but missed getting to the bottom first by inches, sliding past them on the snow as Varric and Hawke got caught on the stone beneath them and went tumbling in the snow, Hawke laughing as Varric dusted the snow off.

“Take that, Anders!” Hawke said, laughing too hard to stand.

“You cheated,” Anders said in good nature, gripping Hawke’s hand and hauling her to her feet. “I’d have propelled myself too, if I knew I had the option.”

“Use whatever you have at your disposal,” Hawke said, picking up the shield and throwing an arm around Anders’ shoulder. “But I did have a dwarven advantage on my side.”

“Which really should be outlawed, Hawke. We provide too much leverage in situations, it honestly is a form of cheating,” Varric said from Hawke’s other side.

Anders and Hawke walked back up the stairs with an arm around each other’s shoulders, Varric trailing behind with his hands behind his back. Merrill was busy claiming the next turn to be hers as Sebastian talked about how he used to sled with his family as a child in Starkhaven. Everyone was cheerful, except for Fenris, who looked upon Anders and Hawke with a burning pit in his belly and ears pulled back as far as they would go. 

He had no reason to be angry; he knew the friendship they possessed, even if he did not understand it. But seeing the mage touch Hawke set something alight in him, something he knew he had no business feeling. Hawke had never asked for her favor back, had never commented on how Fenris had picked her crest off the wall and wore it on his belt, but the fact of the matter stood that he had walked out on her, overwhelmed and unable to process his own thoughts. He had no claim over her, no reason to be jealous.

And yet there he stood, his hands in fists, his heart aching to reach out and pull her close, away from Anders.

Isabela strolled over and bumped her hip against his, a clever smirk shaping her face. He stumbled but quickly regained his footing, cursing the wretched shoes on his feet. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I can’t decide exactly what your stare is trying to do to Anders. Are you attempting to set him on fire or freeze him where he stands?”

“I don’t have to do anything to freeze him. The frigid air is going to do that to him before I ever could.”  
Isabela quirked an eyebrow and chuckled. “The fire, then. Perhaps your lyrium will set him ablaze.”

“I am not discussing this with you.”

Her voice lowered, in that infuriatingly conspiratorial way that he knew meant no one would overhear her. “What has those white underclothes of yours in a twist?”

“They’re not white today,” Fenris said, narrowing his eyes.

Isabela huffed. “I’ll get the color right one day, I swear it.”

“If that is going to make you feel better.” Fenris looked over at Hawke and Anders again, who were comparing coats while Merrill and Sebastian prepared themselves for a race down the steps. It appeared they were discussing what was better: Anders’ feathery pauldrons or the sleek black fur of Hawke’s collar. Hawke’s blue eyes were lit up like lyrium and Anders had one of the most genuine smiles the elf had ever seen him wear.

“Spit it out, Fenris.”

Eyes still on the pair of apostates, Fenris slumped his shoulders, ears following suit. “It does not do to dwell on what once was.”

“That is literally all you do. Ever. What problem do you have with it now?”

Fenris scowled at the pirate. “What would you have me say, wench? There were choices I made, and I have accepted the repercussions of them.”

Isabela’s treacherous eyebrow quirked up again. “Oh? Have you?”

“Acceptance is all I can give. Contentment, however? That can never be. But I accept… that.”

Isabela’s eyes followed the path of the gesture Fenris sent flippantly toward Hawke and Anders. Eyebrow still quirked, she looked back at Fenris, who looked resigned instead of angry.

“You accept Hawke and Anders?”

“What other option do I have? Hawke is still my companion, and I must suffer the mage’s presence at the least. And I… want only her happiness. So, if that is her happiness, then… so it will be.”

It took Fenris a moment to look back at Isabela, and when he did, he was confused to see her failing to hold back a giant grin. Merrill’s shouts of delight and thanks to her gods echoed in the air as Sebastian called upon Andraste to give him speed as they raced down the steps on the shields. Turning to face the pirate, Fenris bent close to her. “What?”

“Andraste’s great granny-panties, Fenris. You think Hawke and Anders are together! That’s priceless!”

Fenris’ eyebrows furrowed. “I… did. Until just now.”

“Sweet boy, Hawke is close with Anders because, as preachy as he is, he understands what it is to be an apostate. And they both want the mages here to not be so oppressed, if they don’t see a similar way to do it. Only you’ve gotten her bent, Lanky.”

Fenris’ eyes went wide and he looked back over at Hawke, who was mocking a smiling Aveline with Anders by standing straight-backed and stern on either side of the guard-captain. He quickly turned back to Isabela, who was still smirking.

“You’re sure?”

“Ask Varric, if you’re so inclined to not believe me. You’re the only one with a hand on her heart, and you didn’t even have to do that magical fisting thing to do it. Are you interested at all in getting her back?”

“I wouldn’t deign to assume I had any right to go back to her. I deserve nothing more than what I have now.”

“Oh, now that’s not a fun way to think. Deserving is such a trivial thing. If you want it, I can make it happen. Quickly, in fact.”

Fenris tilted his head to the side, like Hawke’s mabari often did, ears matching the tilt. “I’m… sorry?”

“The snow might melt around me if you keep talking like that,” Isabela said suddenly, a little too loudly for Fenris’ comfort. With a hard swallow, he watched as Isabela reached out and stroked his cheek. “You know how I like lanky, would you tease me so?”

“I…”

“If you want to make good on that statement, you know which room is mine in The Hanged Man. Wear the spikes,” she said, winking and walking in that way she did, with the over-exaggerated swish of her hips, not at all natural like the swing of Hawke’s hips in her walk. He cleared his throat and looked over at the others; they had all ignored or not heard the interaction, so he was sure Isabela’s convoluted plan was for naught.

Until he noticed a pair of lyrium blue eyes boring into him, the emotion in them unreadable. He tried his hardest to keep his ears from giving away his feelings.

Merrill raced back up the steps and demanded another round of sledding, an out-of-breath but smiling Sebastian coming up behind her and handing off the shield to the first willing participant. Isabela took the sled and winked at Merrill, sitting entirely unladylike on the sled while Aveline called off their marks. As Isabela and Merrill raced down the steps, Hawke walked over to Fenris, who was still trying to work out Isabela’s plan in his head, hoping to get all the pieces together.

“So,” she said conversationally, rubbing her gloved hands together. “What was that little comment about?”

“Comment?” The pieces fell a little more neatly and he was starting to understand.

“Isabela’s comment. She’s not shy about that kind of thing, but it was definitely unexpected. What was it about?”

The pieces fell exactly into place and a light lit up in Fenris’ mind. He crossed his arms. “Isabela is very up-front about these things, yes. I’ll play my hand a little closer to the chest, if you don’t mind.”

“This is not a game of diamondback,” Hawke said, trying to sound casual.

“Let’s hope not. I’ve no desire to lose this game to Isabela.”

Hawke’s cheeks turned pink, and Fenris hoped he hadn’t said anything wrong. After a long moment, Hawke cleared her throat. “I… suppose this is your business. I shouldn’t interfere.”

“Was there a reason you wanted to know in the first place?”

Fenris could hear his heart pounding in his ears as Hawke thought about her answer. He wanted so desperately to hear an affirmation, something to tell him that she still felt for him and that hearing the comment from Isabela made her possessive, willing to fight for him. He felt like he wasn’t even breathing, waiting for Hawke to say something.

“You know me,” she said finally, looking just over his shoulder and not at him. Her voice did not sound confident. “I have to know what’s going on with everyone. Almost as much of a busybody as Varric.”  
Fenris gave her a long look from under the fringe of his hair. “Hawke.”

“If you and Isabela… she is pretty, after all, and apparently very talented… then I shouldn’t… you should be happy.”

“ _Hawke._ ”

“I just want… your,” Hawke said, suddenly aware of how intently Fenris was staring at her. Her voice faltered. “Happiness.”

“And you think Isabela is my happiness?”

They remained staring at each other, nearly eye to eye, both holding themselves as if invisible ropes were trying to pull them in opposite directions. Isabela crested the top of the stairs and handed off the shield to whoever wanted to use it next and went and stood by Varric, crossing her arms. Varric hummed.

“So, Rivaini. You think it’s gonna be that easy, do you?”

“And why shouldn’t it be?” she replied smoothly. “They both need to get over this idiotic idea that they don’t deserve each other. I’m just helping it along.”

“With the amount of honor and duty and obligations they both think they have? Not gonna happen.”

“A sovereign says they at least kiss by the end of the day,” Isabela said, holding out her hand to the dwarf.

“Shit, I’ll take those odds. I’ll accept payment tonight at The Hanged Man,” Varric replied, shaking her hand.

“You’re going to be the one paying me, I think. Look at them.”

Varric looked over at Fenris and Hawke, swearing as he did. They were less than a foot apart and were almost crackling with lightning attraction. A light breeze could have knocked them together. With a huff, Varric looked at Isabela.

“Am I allowed to do what you’re doing, except the opposite?”

“Would you even want to?” Isabela said with a scoff. “Would you really try and make them not be together?”

“Shit, I guess not. Dammit, this sovereign is starting to look like it’s going in your pocket instead of mine.”

“Mm-hmm,” Isabela said, grabbing one of the shields when Anders held it out to the next person. “I want another race down! How about you, Lanky? Care for a race?”

Fenris was yanked out of his reverie in Hawke and took a step away from her, like he’d been shocked. Regaining his bearings, he looked at Isabela with clear eyes. “You want to race me?”

“How about it? First one to finish here is the first one to finish later?”

Varric had never seen Fenris blush before. The color went to his expressive ears instead of his cheeks. He made a mental note about that detail as Fenris slowly walked over.

“I suppose such a proposition is fair,” he said, taking the spare shield she offered.

“Oh, it’s so much fun, I’d love to go again,” Merrill said, sighing, one of her ears tilted downward. “I need to learn to be patient!”

“This shield has room for two asses, Kitten. You can ride down with me.”

“Ma serannas, Isabela! I’d love to!”

Isabela grinned at Fenris. “Better get your own second ass, Lanky. It’s only fair. What about Hawke?”

“I… suppose that would be fair,” Fenris said, swallowing hard. Hawke walked over as Fenris set the shield down at the top of the stairs. Isabela kept her arms around Merrill as Fenris cleared his throat.

“Shall I be in front, then?” Hawke asked, fiddling with her fingers like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Would we get the advantage by having the lighter being in the back?” Fenris asked, feeling suddenly stupid that he had made such a comment. He had meant it that he was an elf and a skinny elf, and not that he thought she was heavy. By Andraste’s mercy, she smiled.

“I suppose you’re right. Sit down, and I’ll sit behind you,” Hawke said. Fenris sat down on the dented metal of the shield, irate by how cold it was. He didn’t have long to dwell, however, because Hawke was behind him then, legs on either side of his hips, her warm torso pressed up firm against his back. A thrill ran up his spine, and his stomach began jumping when she wrapped her arms around him. He wondered if she could feel the nerves inside moving like a storm, or if she noticed how fast his ears had gone up without his consent.

“I’ll push us forward,” Hawke said, her soft voice close to his ear. “Keep the front of the shield up so we don’t go tumbling.”

He nodded, unable to say anything, as Aveline counted them off. When she said go, Fenris jerked at how fast he and Hawke took off, her force magic sending them careening down the stairs. He did his best to keep them steady, suddenly very aware of how many stairs there were. He was also acutely aware of every breath Hawke took, the pounding of his own heart, and the way she held onto him like a vice. Her clear shouts of delight drove spikes into his heart, aching in his very bones. He wished he could shout as she did, be as free as her, be as free with her.

They ended up at the bottom before Isabela and Merrill, but only just. Hawke was still latched onto him and Fenris had no intention of moving any time soon.

“Oh, shit, I guess you get to finish first later,” Isabela said to Fenris, standing up and putting her hands on her hips.

“Why would you let him win again if he’s already won once? That doesn’t seem very fair,” Merrill said, tilting her head.

“Again, I will explain it to you later, Kitten. Another round?” she asked, picking up the shield.

“Oh, that was something dirty. Why can’t I understand when it’s dirty the first time around?” Merrill wondered aloud, following Isabela up the stairs.

“Wait a minute,” Hawke said, getting off the shield and making a seam rip in Fenris’ chest. He watched her walk over to a small group of children, who had gathered off to the side and had been watching them sled for several minutes. Hawke looked up at Aveline at the top of the stairs, who nodded her consent.

“Fenris, bring the shield over here.”

Without a word, Fenris stood up, grabbed the shield, and walked it over to Hawke, who was approaching the children. They seemed happy to see Hawke, but looked more or less terrified about Fenris.

No doubt the rumors had spread about the dark-skinned elf that squatted in Hightown and had strange tattoos. That was to be expected. Still, he walked over to them and held the shield out for them.

“Do try to be careful when you slide down the steps,” he said, eyebrow raised. “We don’t want anyone hurt, do we?”

A little girl with brown curls spilling out from under her hat took the shield carefully from his hands. Hawke smiled at them. “My companion over there has the other one, so you may race. And you listen to my friend, you be careful, understood?”

“Yes, Champion,” they all chorused, running over to get the other shield from Isabela and Merrill. They raced up the steps with the shields, and Isabela crossed her arms.

“Well, there goes the fun.”

“It’s so lovely to see the little ones so happy. We’ll find our own fun!” Merrill said happily as Hawke waved down the rest of their companions.

Fenris looked at Merrill, then almost choked. “Have you gone mad, witch?”

“Oh, what did I do to you now?” Merrill said, gesturing helplessly to Fenris.

“You don’t have any shoes on!”

“Is that it?” Merrill said, wiggling her toes in the snow. “I lived in Ferelden, remember! The Dalish in Ferelden don’t mind a little cold.”

“A _little_?”

“I think Fenris is going to die,” Isabela said, tapping her chin. “Look at him, utterly cannot process what is happening.”

“What’s this about Fenris dying?” Anders said excitedly, running up to the little group. Hawke snorted as Fenris glared at him.

“Your sense of timing is impeccable, Anders, truly,” Hawke said, shaking her head.

“Come on, let’s not start a quarrel,” Sebastian said, holding up his hands. “I’m told a merchant stand has gone up that’s selling warm treats. We should get some, warm our insides a little.”

Fenris tried not to let on that he was ridiculously excited to engage in something warm as they walked down to the market. He tried to let on even less that he was actually very grateful to Anders for melting pathways so that they did not have to trudge through snow. Sebastian, as well, seemed very pleased with the work Anders had done.

“Truly, you have done something good today, Anders,” Sebastian said, smiling at the apostate. “All the people in Hightown are using your pathways.”

“If the act itself wasn’t so tiring, I might have done all of Hightown, and not just this part of it,” Anders said, shrugging. “Keeping up that much concentration for fire gets pretty hard after a while.”

“I might have helped, if you had asked,” Merrill said with a pout. “I do know how to do that sort of thing.”

“No offense, but I’d have been a little worried you’d have slit your wrist to get more power while melting the snow,” Anders said, none too kindly.

Isabela smacked him upside the head when Merrill all but wilted under his scrutiny, ears back and pointed down. Anders rubbed the offending spot with a scowl. “What was that for?”

“Because— what was it you said once, Fenris? About the houses?”

“Mages in glass houses shouldn’t throw fireballs,” Fenris monotoned, hands deep in his pockets, which he was delighted to find were lined with some kind of velvet.

“Yes, that. That is why I hit you.”

Sebastian elbowed Anders jovially. “I still think you did something good. Andraste’s grace is with you.”

“Oh,” Hawke said, slumping her shoulders. “Andraste’s Grace used to grow all over Lothering. It smelled so lovely. I miss it.”

She was met with several stares of confusion. With a gesture, Hawke clarified. “Andraste’s Grace, they’re a little white flower. They smell good. They’re almost a weed in Ferelden with how abundant they are.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Isabela said, nodding. “I remember some of them growing around Denerim!”

“I wish I would have paid more attention. Or known what the Dalish called them,” Merrill said with a sigh.

They reached the market and did indeed find a merchant with a long table of treats and drinks set up, peddling his menu with a loud, cheerful voice. The group walked over to it, viewing his wares and warming their hands on the steam and the little oil lamps he had lit to keep his wares warm. They asked prices and everyone began digging into their pockets for coins. It was when Merrill came out with a few coppers and was disappointed that she didn’t have enough for both a drink and snack that Hawke pulled out her purse and said she was paying for everything.

“No, Hawke! I couldn’t ask you to do that!” Merrill said, ears pulled back in embarrassment.

“It’s a good thing you’re not asking me to do it then, isn’t it? Go on, everyone, I have plenty of coin. Get what you’d like.”

“Your kindness is unmatched,” Sebastian said, tilting his head to her. “Surely you’d like something in return for this?”

“Not a thing, Sebastian. Consider this my gift for you all spending the day in the snow with me.”  
The merchant handed out all the things Hawke and her companions wanted, giving Hawke the price when all were happily eating and drinking. Hawke handed over the appropriate amount of coins and thanked the merchant, going to join her companions to sit on the stairs.

“This might very well be the best spiced cider I have ever had,” Isabela said, balancing her cup on her knee while she dug into her bag of sweets. “And these, I have no idea what they are, but they’re sweet and warm.”

“They look like little fried pieces of bread,” Merrill said, sticking one in her mouth. “Covered in sugar.”

“The fried bread tastes better with the hot chocolate, I think,” Aveline said, smiling.

Anders shook his head. “I have to disagree, Guard-Captain. The little caramel cakes are the best with the chocolate.”

“Did no one besides me just get tea?” Sebastian asked, looking a little left out.

Fenris, mouth full of the caramel cake, lifted his glass in support of getting just tea. He’d thought about getting one of the sweeter drinks, but he just couldn’t do too much sweet at once. Sugar had never been abundant in his life, since slaves never got the pleasure of candies or anything like them, and consuming a large amount in a short time was sure to turn his stomach. Even the little bag of caramel cakes he had would be half finished and stuck into his pocket for later, lest he be sick.

Perhaps he’d share the cakes with Orana.

Varric told a story to them as they ate, a daring tale about a casteless dwarf that had risen to save his underground city from a wave of darkspawn. He didn’t gesture grandly or speak loudly, but he had them all wrapped around his finger as he spoke. The drinks and snacks were all gone (save for the cakes Fenris had stowed in his pocket) by the time Varric had finished his story. Merrill was all but on top of Varric, so enraptured was she in his words. Her ears were almost facing completely forward.

“So many things I don’t understand about your tale, but I love it so much. Such bravery! Such heroism! Did they make him… what’s the word, a pinafore?”

“A paragon, Daisy. And no, they didn’t.”

“Well, why not?” she demanded.

“Because dwarves are traditional and annoying. Saved his city, he did, but he was still casteless. And casteless dwarves can’t be anything except casteless face brands. Ever.”

Merrill hit her fist against the step she was sitting on. “That is so unfair! The Dalish would never let that happen.”

“The Dalish apparently have a better sense of fairness than others do,” Aveline said, leaning against the railing.

“And smug superiority,” Fenris said under his breath, picking at his nails absently. Merrill huffed and Isabela pet her hair comfortingly.

“Don’t listen to them, Kitten. You be smug all you want to. You’re worth ten of him.”

“Not in Tevinter, she’s not,” Anders said, stretched out on his back, lounging like a cat.

Fenris blinked, then looked at Anders in disbelief. “Did you really just make a joke about the slave trade in Tevinter?”

“Not just a joke, but a good one.”

It was quiet for a moment, the air tense, no one quite sure what was going to happen. The smart money in Varric’s head was on a pissed off elven fist in Anders’ chest. But before Fenris could do anything, Hawke began laughing riotously, her hands covering her face as she bent over her knees and let the laughter shake her body.

“You’re laughing at his joke?” Fenris asked fiercely, body tense.

Hawke wheezed in a breath and looked at Fenris. She had tears in her eyes. “Is he wrong, Fenris? Aren’t you running from Danarius because of how valuable you are? Oh, Maker, my sides, I can’t breathe!”

Anders smiled. “At least someone appreciates my humor.”

Sebastian sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps we should work on who you aim your jokes at. Preferably not at a person who can kill you with his bare hands.”

Hawke wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at Fenris. “Oh, Fenris, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, but even you have to admit that was funny because it’s true. And it’s not as if Anders is going to throw you back to the magisters.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Varric snorted. “Like Hawke would ever allow anyone to send you away.”

“They’d have to literally go through Hawke to get to him,” Isabela agreed, smiling that same infuriating smile she had on earlier.

“I don’t know. If they offer the right price, I might give him back,” Hawke said, tapping her chin.

Fenris tried to look nonchalant, but the fearful droop of his ears gave him away. Hawke cooed and reached out for his hand. “It’s a joke, Fenris, a joke! I’d never let them take you.”

The thought of being sent back to the Imperium still shook his bones, but he took comfort in imagining that she was leaving ‘away from me’ off the end of her sentence to be coy. His reverie was broken when Sebastian hummed.

“You know, Fenris, I have never actually seen your lyrium glow. Is it truly a wonder to behold?”

“Who described it to you that way?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I pieced it together myself. So… does all of you glow, or just the lyrium?”

“It depends.”

“May I see it?”

“What’s there to see?” Isabela asked, nodding her head towards the elf. “He’s wrapped up head to toe. Do you want to see his chin turn blue?”

Fenris sent her a sly glance, then settled back on his elbows and let his lyrium glow. Sebastian’s blue eyes went wide, drinking in the sight of the lyrium glowing through the fabric of his trousers, the hints of blue light pushing through the thick wool of the cloak.

“That’s incredible!” Sebastian said, in awe. “And… the hand thing you do. Can you use it only to kill? Or is that a conscious decision?”

“Are you asking if I can just stick my hand into people without actually hurting them?”

Sebastian nodded. Looking almost too giddy, Fenris reached out and plunged his hand into Anders’ chest. The mage looked more distressed than injured as Fenris moved his hand around inside his chest, lyrium calming and going back to white when he withdrew his hand.

“It’s whatever I please,” Fenris said, checking his nails again.

Anders clutched at his chest and looked at Fenris incredulously. “Please don’t ever do that again!”

“Rest assured, mage, if I ever put my hand into you again, you won’t get the pleasure of describing the honor.”

A sharp smack to the knee told him Hawke was displeased with his actions. Fenris’ ears went back automatically, repentant, a knee-jerk reaction conditioned into him from his life of slavery, as Hawke scooted up a few stairs and leaned against Anders.

“I’ve made Fenris swear he won’t kill you,” Hawke said, patting his leg. “If that makes you feel better.”

“He stuck his whole hand into me!”

Isabela snorted. “There’s a phrase I never thought I’d hear outside the Rose.”

Sebastian blushed three shades of red and Aveline rubbed her palm against her forehead. Isabela stood, stretching her long legs. “Speaking of the Rose, I have to wonder, Lanky. Can you only use the fisting to harm or intimidate? Or could they be used intimately?”

“You’d love to find out, wouldn’t you?” Fenris said, looking up at the pirate.

“Perhaps we could find out together,” Isabela said, winking at him.

Hawke stood up quickly, as if she’d been shocked. “I think we should move on to a new activity, don’t you think? I’m getting bored just sitting here. What else can we do in the snow?”

Suggestions poured out from all sides, but it was Merrill’s excited request to make snow people that won out. Sebastian led them up to the courtyard in front of the Chantry, assuring them that building people out of snow would not offend the Maker, and in fact would probably delight the children. Merrill was fairly easy to read, her heart always on her sleeve, but Hawke had never seen the Dalish elf so excited before. She had dashed ahead of everyone else and was already rolling a large ball for a base when everyone else came into the courtyard.

“We should make one for each of us!” she said cheerily, her cheeks pink with the cold and delight. “And then we can all have our little snow-people counterparts. Oh, won’t that be wonderful!”

“Does Anders need to make one for Justice as well?” Hawke asked, which got her an elbow in the ribs from the scowling healer. “Ow, okay, if you can’t take jokes about it, you shouldn’t have put Justice there in the first place.”

“I think Varric might be at a bit of an advantage here,” Aveline said, smiling at the dwarf. “You won’t have to work nearly as hard as the rest of us.”

“Quality over quantity, Guard-Captain,” Varric said, nodding. “Besides, I’m going to have to make sure the part of snow I use for Bianca is perfect. That alone is going to mean I have the same amount of work.”

“Do you think he’s going to actually make Bianca?” Isabela asked, crossing her arms. “Or just the crossbow?”

“Bianca is the crossbow, Rivaini.”

“I will get this story out of you one day,” Isabela said, walking over to a pile of relatively untouched snow and beginning her snow person.

Varric shrugged. “Tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better.”

They all got to work separately on their snow people, conversing lightly as they worked. Hawke and Merrill proved the most adept with the snow, having grown up around it, and were making impressive things with the packed snow. Aveline did just as well, but she wasn’t paying nearly the same attention to details as they were. Her snow person was more or less a pillar with definite shapes to let someone know it was supposed to be a person. Isabela began cackling madly when Sebastian looked over and nearly choked when he saw the snow person she had made of herself was made more or less naked, complete with little pebbles she’d found stuck in the middle of the snow person’s breasts. He stammered and demanded that she have some decency in front of the Chantry, the house of the Maker, and she laughed a little bit longer before finally doing as he asked, instead putting one of the pebbles on the face, meant to be the little gold stud she wore on her lip. Everyone was having a delightful time.

Except for Fenris, of course, who had elected to lean against a wall with his hands in his pockets, shivering. He was more than content to not stick his hands in the frozen white nonsense any further, and instead just stand and brood and notice that the mages in his company were not so much building as using powers of ice to put shape into snow the others could not. Hawke, especially, was intent on getting a wisp of ice to fall across her snow person’s face like her own hair did.

“Fenris!” Sebastian called, looking over at the elf. “Don’t be so standoffish, join in!”

“I’m supervising,” Fenris said back dryly, scowling.

“We’re not workers in a mine,” Sebastian said, giving Fenris that infuriating, stern look that almost made Fenris sad that he would not have children to use it on. “You don’t need to supervise us.”

“We might be children, though,” Hawke said, shrugging.

“I think we’re all a bit too old to be considered children, don’t you? For the love of the Maker, Isabela!” Sebastian said, looking distraught. “Please, for my sake at least, keep it decent!”

“You are absolutely no fun,” Isabela said, huffing as she tossed away the handful of moss she had gathered.

“Andraste, give me strength,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Fenris pushed off the wall and began walking around, hands still warming themselves in his pockets, as he looked at the various snow people that had cropped up. A few children on the other side of the courtyard began following their example, making their own group of snowmen and laughing. The pealing sound of their joy echoed around the courtyard and Fenris felt himself getting a headache.

“What do you think, Fenris?” Hawke asked, standing away from hers and observing.

“In general?”

“Sure.”

“The head on Anders’ snow person is not big enough.”

Anders shot him a sarcastic laugh and a rude gesture that made Hawke snort. Fenris looked at her snow person. “But yours looks fine. Not quite…”

Hawke smirked when Fenris went quiet, his ears pulled back and bright red. “Not quite what, Fenris?”

“Not quite…” Fenris swallowed hard. “Wide enough in the hips.”

“Is that supposed to be a jibe at how broad my ass is?”

Hawke was almost delighted to see Fenris’ ears go even redder. “Never.”

“Let’s see here,” Varric said, looking over at Hawke and Fenris. “If Hawke is the ass and Isabela is the tits, what is Aveline?”

“The long arm of the law,” Anders said, looking around for any type of reaction. He nearly beamed when Isabela cackled.

Sebastian chuckled. “Rife with terrible jokes today, aren’t you?”

“I can’t just give them to you all the time. It has to be a special occasion.”

“What about me? What am I?” Merrill asked, blowing on her hands to warm them.

“You, Daisy? You’re the soul,” Varric said with a wink. Merrill hid her face behind her hands, grinning madly, her cheeks aflame with bashfulness.

“What about you men, then? What body parts do you encompass?” Hawke asked, resting her weight on one foot.

Fenris smirked. “Anders is the ass.”

Anders gave Fenris the same gesture he’d gifted him earlier, and it took all of Fenris’ willpower to not stoop to his level and give it back. With a smile, Hawke walked over to Anders and held out her hand. “Two peas in a pod, we are. A pair of apostates and a pair of asses!”

Like they’d practiced it, Hawke and Anders bumped their hips together, posing stupidly after they’d done so. Varric chuckled. “Oh, yeah, Anders is definitely the ass. Me? I’m the brains.”

“I think Fenris is our muscle,” Sebastian said. “Or possibly our guts. Some type of strength.”

“I knew I liked you,” Fenris said, nodding at the Chantry brother.

“I’m not sure where to put you, Choir Boy.”

Aveline shrugged. “Is moral compass a body part?”

“I think that body part is the heart, personally,” Hawke said, slinging an arm around Anders’ shoulders and leaning on him. Anders put his arm around her waist for extra support, looking over at Sebastian, who looked surprised.

“You think I’m the heart?”

“Well, yeah. The heart’s where all the emotions and things are. And you have to trust your heart to keep you on the straight and narrow. And who better to be the heart than someone who is not only the most morally sound one here, but also the one who uses something straight and narrow to fight with?” Hawke said, gesturing with her free hand.

Sebastian smiled and dipped his head at Hawke. “You’re too kind to me, Champion.”

“Oh, shut up with all that,” Hawke said, tilting her head so it was resting against Anders. “You’re going to make my ego get all big.”

Fenris was glad he had his hands in his pockets. No one saw him clench his fists that way. He kept repeating the words _‘it’s just friendship’_ over and over in his head, but the raging beast of jealousy was still thrashing around inside of him. Sebastian obviously had to be their heart; Anders had to share his with a demon and Fenris’ was currently being trampled and tortured.

They finished off their snow people, pleased with their work, and were suddenly at a loss for what to do again. And they were to be reduced by one; one of the sisters in the Chantry had come out into the courtyard, seeking Sebastian’s assistance for organizing the items the Chantry had gathered for the less fortunate. Sebastian had apologized and excused himself, promising to come to Hawke’s manor later that evening. Aveline then took the moment to take her leave as well, promising the same thing as Sebastian, with the reasoning that she needed to head back to the Keep and actually do her job as Guard-Captain. Hawke let her go on the promise that she would bring Donnic with her when she returned. Anders then brought up that he hadn’t been in his clinic all day long, and that he had patients to look after. He left them, mocking Hawke’s outlandish pout at her fellow apostate leaving her, and then Isabela mentioned needing a stiff drink to properly warm up. Then she and Varric were off, walking side by side to The Hanged Man, accompanying each other to their filthy accommodations. Merrill followed them, begging to hear more stories from Varric as Isabela promised not to give her the ale that made her sleepy.

It was just Fenris and Hawke then, standing a few feet apart, unsure of what to do with themselves. Hawke shifted her weight from foot to foot as Fenris stood stock-still, neither of them saying a word.

“You know, I…” Hawke started unsure of where to do. “I did kind of want to Lowtown today.”

“The caravan left without you if you did,” Fenris said, gesturing with his elbow in the direction their companions had walked. “If you run, you can probably catch them.”

“I didn’t mean to The Hanged Man,” Hawke replied. “I meant to pop in on Gamlen, see how he’s faring. It’s been a week, and I figured I might as well keep up the weekly visits that…”

Fenris wished he had the words to tell her she didn’t need to bring up her mother. Leandra had died at the hands of a blood mage and Fenris knew that was a sore spot Hawke still nursed. She and Anders had always had a common goal of freeing mages, albeit with different methods, and that her mother, a woman that had created a life with an apostate, had died because of a mage, was adverse to her cause. Any argument Hawke would ever make would be followed by someone bringing up how her mother died, and Hawke wasn’t even allowed to retaliate the way she wanted, for fear of furthering the fear and hatred of mages.

He hadn’t known what to say then and he didn’t know what to say now. She had wanted nothing but his presence that evening, and he had provided. Despite all better judgment, she’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he’d lain awake all night, stroking her hair, trying to say anything. Fenris could speak three languages, but had not been able to string a sentence together in any of them that would have helped her.

“Gamlen could use a watchful eye, at the very least,” he finally said, hoping that it wasn’t wrong. “Nothing like his powerful niece to keep him on the right path, yes?”

By some intervention by the Maker, Hawke smiled at him. “Having the scary, glowing elf at my side probably wouldn’t hurt. Would it be too much to ask for you to accompany me?”

“Not at all,” Fenris said, walking over and holding his elbow out. He was finally beginning to feel his fingers again, and was not going to risk losing the sensation in them again because of the wretched cold. And, no matter how he might wish to lace his fingers with hers, offering his arm was a much more acceptable option.

“I certainly ask a lot of you at times, don’t I?” Hawke said, sliding her arm into his and walking toward Lowtown with him.

“You make it sound as though you force me. I’m completely capable of telling you no. I just never have any reason to.”

“I’ve dragged you along to let mages go free and fight Templars. You have had multiple reasons.”

“None I cared too strongly over.”

He could see the shocking lyrium blue of her eyes staring at him in his peripheral vision. She was smiling. “Shall we find out what you wouldn’t do for me, Fenris?”

“I can assure you, Hawke. I have no problem telling you no.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Fenris’ eyebrow quirked. “Alright, try me. I promise I’ll answer as if you were really coming to me with this, instead of saying no on principle.”

After a moment of thought, Hawke’s eyes narrowed and her grin grew wicked. “Fenris, this is urgent! We need to go to Tevinter right now and endorse the power of the magisters! It’s the only way mages can be free from oppression. We should call on Danarius while we’re there. He would most definitely help us, especially if you talk to him alone.”

Fenris gave her a sidelong glance. “And you thought I was incapable of telling you no.”

“But I don’t know Minrathous! Who better to guide me than someone who lived there?”

Fenris sighed loudly through his nose and rolled his eyes. “ _No._ ”

“But just imagine. Once we get Danarius’ support, bam! Fist in the chest. He’d never see it coming. I’d get the aid I seek, you get the revenge you seek. Win-win!”

With a glance upward, like he was appealing to the Maker, Fenris groaned. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum_ , fine, yes, I’d go with you. Happy now?”

“Delighted.”

Her smile was smug and her step was lively and he wanted so much to be angry with her, but he couldn’t. Not when he realized that the longer he thought about it, he really would go to Danarius’ front door for her.

* * *

Their trip to Lowtown was shockingly pleasant. Gamlen was as sour as ever, but he talked with Hawke and decidedly did not ask for money. Fenris kept to himself, listening but not contributing to the conversation, as Hawke gave him updates on the things she was doing, asking if there was anything he needed. Surprisingly, Gamlen did not ask for money. He didn’t even take Hawke up on her offer of joining them for the evening for dinner. She brought new life to the fire in his fireplace with a flick of her wrist, made sure Gamlen was set, and promised to be back in a few days. The trip had been pleasant, even if Gamlen had been shooting uneasy glances at Fenris the whole time.

“Do you think he behaved himself because I was there?” Fenris said, arm in arm with Hawke again as they walked up to Hightown, the sun dipping below the horizon.

“Possibly. Or he knew I’d make his fire burn better.”

“Have you ever wondered how your life would be different if you hadn’t lived with Gamlen, here in Lowtown? Perhaps if he hadn’t sold the estate, and you were a noble the moment you arrived?”

“I think about that all the time. I would have never gone into the Deep Roads, I would never let Carver go there with me, I’d have never met… well, anyone, except Merrill and Aveline. I’d have never had to deal with the Arishok, never had to get tied up in all the messes of the city.”

“It seems your entrance into the city through Lowtown has led to quite a lot of strife and suffering. Do you ever wish it had been different?”

“On really bad days, sure. I’m sure you wish your life had been different, too. But in the grand scheme of things, no, I don’t suppose I would change anything.”

“Really? Nothing at all?”

“Life is made up of good and bad, Fenris. For every bad moment, there has been a good one. And, really, some of the good things that come my way? I wouldn’t hand those over for anything.”

Fenris nodded. “I imagine being Champion of Kirkwall is a delightful title.”

“That’s not what I was referring to, but yes, I suppose the title is something to be pleased over.”

“What were you referring to, then?”

“Well,” Hawke said, moving her hair out of her eyes. “Had I had not had the misfortune of trying to reclaim my family’s title, I’d have never had the fortune of meeting you.”

Fenris’ ears turned bright red and his heart started pounding. He cleared his throat. “I am… glad to hear you think that.”

“What do you suppose Orana is making for supper? She said earlier that she was planning something wonderful. What does wonderful mean in Tevinter?”

“That depends entirely on who you ask,” Fenris said, shrugging.

The sun dipped low and the sky became dark. City workers came out to light the lanterns around the pathways, illuminating the path. They were climbing the steps into the Hightown market when fat, abundant snowflakes began falling from the sky.

“Oh, Fenris, look!” Hawke said, holding out her hands. “It’s not quite done yet, it seems.”

Fenris sighed. “No, it would appear so.”

“Have a little bit of fancy, Fenris. I know you’re not used to the cold, being from Tevinter, but just take a second to look. Have you ever seen snow fall from the sky before?”

She spun around with her hands wide, letting the snowflakes fall on her. The long hem of her coat flared around her, making her look like a ballerina as she twirled. Fenris felt the strings in his heart pull as he watched her give into the feeling of being in the snow.

“It’s still a walk to the estate in the snow,” he reminded her gently. “And it is dark. We also don’t have our weapons with us.”

“Do you really think anyone would attack us in this weather?”

“Yes.”

“Spoilsport,” Hawke said, walking over to Fenris and dusting the snow off his shoulders. “Alright, let’s go. We may beat some of the others back at this pace.”

Fenris offered his arm again, but Hawke refused it, if only so she could still dance in the falling snow as she walked. She laughed and spun and tried to catch the snowflakes on her tongue as Fenris kept a steady pace behind her; as he walked with her, he couldn’t help feeling that this was who Hawke was, down to her core. There was no armor, no title, no propriety, no covers to keep her from being who she wanted to be. She was simply the girl who grew up in Fereldan, the land of dogs and mud, an apostate who wasn’t looking over her shoulder, enjoying the snow she had missed. Fenris had seen glimpses of her before, but had never seen her so open and bare, so carefree.

His heart pounded and his ears burned.

They finally came up to her door, where a soft music was coming from inside.

“Orana is playing the lute,” Hawke ventured, brushing the snow off of her shoulders. “I’m so glad, she plays the lute so beautifully.”

“She does.”

“I…” Hawke started, looking suddenly very apprehensive. “I don’t thank her enough, for all the help she gives me. And I don’t thank you enough, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your debt could have been paid to me when you gave me the coin you had. You could have simply thanked me for trying to go after Danarius and then left it at that. Instead, I dragged you along on all my adventures, and not once have I ever said, ‘thank you for staying with me.’ What kind of wretched friend am I?”

“You would have accepted my coin and then let me go?” Fenris asked, incredulous. He’d never before realized she had expected him to leave.

“Well, I mean…” Hawke gestured hopelessly at the elf in front of her. “I would have accepted any help I could get, but I wasn’t going to force you to stay. I wanted you to stay. I’m glad you stayed.”

Fenris put his hands on her shoulders, centering her and stopping her babbling. With a sigh, Hawke looked at Fenris. “Thank you for staying.”

“Thank you for keeping me.”

Their eyes met for a long moment. Fenris felt the similar pull in his chest, and he felt Hawke breathe in sharply under his hands. Fenris had never brought up the night they had shared, had never dared to speak again of what had happened, but he still nursed the ache he held for Hawke. He had always assumed she had moved on, with that abomination, but Isabela had destroyed that, and now that he knew she was not with anyone, he felt more confident, that maybe he hadn’t broken the thing he wanted. Unsure of himself, Fenris slowly moved in closer to her, eyes darting between the lyrium blue of her irises and the bow of her lips. Hawke’s eyes slid shut and he was barely an inch from her when the door to her estate opened.

Like he’d been burned, Fenris took a quick step back and put his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat and looking away as Hawke rubbed at her cheeks, which were as red as Fenris’ ears. Sandal looked at both of them, not saying anything.

“Oh, so Sandal did hear something!” Bodahn called, running up to the door. “I didn’t think anyone was outside, but he said he heard someone! Welcome home, Messere, and Master Fenris, so nice to see you again.”

“Bodahn,” Fenris said shortly, nodding his head at the dwarf.

“Enchantment,” Sandal said, looking at Fenris. The elf pointedly did not look back.

“Not at the moment, Sandal,” Hawke said, patting him lovingly on the head. “But it is cold out here. Come on, Fenris, let’s warm up by the fire.”

“Finally, some sense.”

They stepped into the foyer and Bodahn took their coats from them, promising to have them dried before being put back into Hawke’s wardrobe. Fenris all but kicked out of his shoes, deterred to find the stone tiles colder than normal but glad to have the boots off his feet. Hawke fixed her hair and sighed.

“It doesn’t look like anyone else is here yet. Would you like to accompany me up to my room? It’s still a little cold, and I have a sweater you could wear.”

“Why do you insist on coddling me?” Fenris said, following her up the stairs anyway. The sounds of Orana playing the lute from the library echoed around the mansion and reminded him of Minrathous. Shockingly, he felt melancholic.

“I’m making sure you don’t catch a cold, you thick elf,” Hawke said, putting her hands on her hips. “Maker knows you’d never let Anders care for you if you did.”

“I’d rather suffer.”

“I’ll tell him you said that next time he goes to heal you in combat,” Hawke said, smiling as she opened her bedroom door. “Maybe it’ll teach you a lesson about valuing his resources when you have to limp back to Hightown, bleeding.”

Fenris’ ears dipped low, angry, as his eyes narrowed. Hawke snorted and stepped into her bedroom, delighted by the fire already going in the fireplace.

“Bodahn certainly thinks of every detail,” she commented, holding her hands to it. “It’s so warm in here.”

“It’s bordering on livable,” Fenris agreed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and watching as Hawke pulled open her wardrobe. She pondered its options for a moment, then shrugged.

“Why not go with the reliable?” she said, pulling out the normal finery she wore at home. Fenris’ ears went red when she began pulling off the layers of warm clothing she was wearing, leaving herself in her breast band and a pair of tight trousers that looked to be made of dark red velvet. The hourglass of her body was still the same as it always was, with perhaps a few more scars, especially the nasty line on her back that he knew was matched on the front; a gift from the Arishok that Anders had repaired against the rules of the duel while they stood to the side and watched.

He’d never said, but he had always been grateful that the mage had clenched his fist and let his magic keep her alive while the Arishok had held her aloft on his sword, a blow that surely should have killed her.

Quietly, Fenris crept off the bed and toward the door. Hawke jumped, startled when Fenris closed the door and looked at her.

“Maker’s Breath, Fenris, you need to learn how to make noise when you walk! I almost had a heart attack!”

“I apologize,” he said quietly, walking towards her. She was as beautiful as he remembered, curves and white skin and the pale lavender lines of a girl growing faster than her body had been prepared for. No, they had never discussed the night they shared together. But Fenris clung to its memory like his life depended on it and wanted more than anything to repeat it with her, to feel the silk of her touch, the beating of her heart, the strong hold of her arms. He wished he had never walked out on her, had never left her alone and wanting. What kind of coward had he been, that he had shut her out because he was scared? And her lighthearted offer, to do it more often to help him regain his memories. Such an offer, after time spent obsessing over it, seemed too good to pass up, in hindsight.

He had never apologized. He had never asked her how she felt. He was a fool.

“Fenris?” Hawke said, leaning against the closed door of the wardrobe. With barely a hand’s space between them, Fenris spoke.

“Deny me,” he said, his heart pounding. He’d given her the option before, and he would give her the option again. It had to be her choice. It always had to be her choice.

“Never.”

She felt like he remembered, like everything he’d ever wanted. She bent entirely to his will, pressing her body against his as her arms wrapped around his chest. His heart pounded madly when she tilted her head and opened her mouth to him, holding him tightly as he tasted her tongue. She kissed him like it was their last day to live, like she was poisoned and his lips were an antidote. Fenris couldn’t help but be reserved, was still trying to shake the conditioning to be led, but Hawke was fervor and fire and led the way like she always did.

The finery she held in her hands dropped to the floor and Fenris’ hands moved to her hips. She bit his lip as he bent his knees and hooked his hands under her thighs, hiking her up so she was wrapped around his waist. She gasped into his mouth and steadied herself on his shoulders, so unused to looking down at the elf.

His name came out as a ghost from her lips as he kissed down her neck, his insides twitching as she tangled her fingers in his hair, her palms brushing against his ears, so damnably sensitive as they were. She let out the same delicious noises he remembered when he put his mouth on the spot where her neck met her shoulders, unthinkingly leaving a mark there. He wanted to leave marks all over her, places people could see, places people couldn’t, anywhere she would let him.

He dragged his tongue down to the valley of her cleavage when she brought him back up to her mouth, holding tightly to him with both arms and legs like if she allowed even the smallest amount of space between them, he’d disappear forever. She kissed him fervently, holding him steady as she led the way.  
Fenris finally pulled back to catch his breath, his hands braced on the wardrobe behind her, as she looked on him, her pupils dilated, the lyrium of her eyes crackling like the lightning she could call from the sky.

“Hawke, we… we need to—”

“We don’t need to anything,” Hawke said, covering his mouth with her hand. “Set me down.”

Swallowing hard, Fenris took a step back and slowly let Hawke’s feet touch the floor. After a moment, his mind hazy and his heart still pounding, Hawke reached up and pulled at the lacing of her breast band. Fenris felt the world around him evaporate and he was left standing there, staring at Hawke with more emotion than he knew what to do with. He leaned in to press another kiss to her mouth, the lacing almost completely undone, when the sound of her front door slamming open echoed through the house and a voice called to them.

“Hello! Back from The Hanged Man, ready to eat food that isn’t a questionable color!” Isabela said loudly. “Andraste’s tits, it’s cold outside. Hawke!”

Like he’d been thrown into the snow outside, a cold chill settled into Fenris’ bones. Reality crashed back into him, with a hard force like the whole sky had slammed onto his head. His ears drooped and he stumbled backwards.

“Hawke, I… I shouldn’t have…”

“Fenris,” she said, sounding upset rather than angry. That gutted him. He would have rather her been angry. He deserved her anger.

“I can’t be… this was… I’m sorry,” he rambled, covering his face with his hands and scrambling out of the room.

“Fenris!”

He ignored her, and he ignored the looks Isabela, Varric, and Merrill gave him as he all but sprinted down the stairs, his shoulders hunched and his ears flaming red. He ran into the library, slammed the door behind him, and made his way to the cellar door, remembering its location from the times Hawke had gone into it to get a bottle of wine.

What a foolish, idiotic coward he was, trying to take what he had no claim to, what he had no right to covet, what he had done nothing to deserve.

Back in the main hall, Isabela elbowed the dwarf. “He came out of her room. Looking very distraught, I might add.”

Varric sighed and pulled a sovereign out of his coin purse. “I hate you.”

“Most people do. Should someone go after him, give him a good kick to the head for being stupid?”

“Nah, I say let him stew in his misery.”

“Poor Fenris,” Merrill said, sitting on the tile in front of the fire, warming her toes. “He deserves so much to be happy. Why can’t he just let himself be?”

Isabela sat down next to Merrill. “Because, Kitten, he’s got a lot more problems than just ignoring his chance to be happy.”

Hawke came down the stairs, dressed in her finery, composed and looking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, with her collar pulled up a little higher than usual. Varric and Isabela looked at each other and both decided not to say anything.

* * *

Anders walked through the cellar, his palm full of fire, lit up like a torch. He would never cease to be surprised that Hawke had given him the key to her cellar, its entrance into Darktown not ten feet from his clinic, but he was forever grateful. A gift for a troubled friend, she had told him, and he tried not to overstep his boundaries by using the passage too often. But, there was snow outside, and he was not willing to traipse through it, alone, in the dark.

So, out came the key and into the cellar to Hawke’s estate he went.

Someone being in the cellar wasn’t such a surprise to him. It did hold wine, and Hawke tended to go through a lot of it, if not for the fact that wretched beast drank it like water. It was, however, a large surprise for him to see the beast himself, sitting in front of a huge cask of wine, his knees drawn up to his chest, folded in on himself like some repentant letter. With a sigh, Anders stopped in front of him and tapped his foot. He may not have cared, but Hawke would have certainly been upset if the idiot was too stubborn to not catch hypothermia and die in the cellar.

“So, what is it today? None of the Aggregio you like? Or did someone speak well of mages in your presence?”

Anders half-expected the elf to attack him. Instead, he merely sighed and straightened up, leaning his back against the wood.

“What do you even care, abomination?”

“One, I take offense to that. Two, I don’t care at all. But Hawke is my friend, and she likes having you around, so I have to wonder why you’re trying to kill yourself down here in the cold. You can feel how cold it is, right?”

As if to angrily emphasize that yes, he could feel it, Fenris blew air out through his nose, the warm air turning to vapor in the cold. With a sigh, Anders gestured at the Tevinter. “Well, then, what is it? Hawke will have my skin if she finds out I just left you down here. Come on, out with it.”

“No, she won’t. Not after… she just won’t.”

“Ah,” Anders said knowingly, nodding. “This is some affair of the frozen heart you possess.”

Fenris said nothing. Anders had to admit his disappointment. “Really? No rebuttal? No nasty comments about Justice? You really are depressed. What happened?”

“I took something I had no business taking.”

“Is this about the mansion?”

“Don’t be daft,” Fenris snapped, glaring at the healer. “Why would I be down here, cowering in the cellar of Hawke’s estate if this was about Danarius’ mansion?”

“Just a guess, relax a little,” Anders said, holding up his free hand. “So, let’s think. You’re here, in Hawke’s cellar, you took something, and you have been mooning over Hawke all day long. Oh, dear, Fenris, did you try and move too fast? Get a little too handsy?”

“I hate you,” Fenris hissed, his knuckles going white as he clenched his fists.

“How close am I?”

“Would you just—fine, you want to hear it? I kissed Hawke, tried to go too far too fast, and I backed out, like a coward. I don’t deserve her and I’m not going to just take advantage of her like that.”

Anders nodded, then put his hands on his hips, the flame in his hand going out. “Maker’s Breath, you are an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

“One more word, mage, and I swear—”

“Do you really think Hawke would let you do anything to her if she didn’t want it? Do you think that little of her?”

Fenris looked up at Anders with wide eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“Have a little more awareness of your surroundings, you tit!” Anders said, gesturing widely at the elf. “What does Hawke have to do, show up at your door naked? There’s nothing you can do that she doesn’t want you to do. Or are you too stubborn to notice?”

“I had no right to just—”

“Oh, stuff it.” Anders rubbed his forehead. “Andraste’s tits, what she even sees in you… listen, Hawke’s a friend. I’d even call her my best friend. She talks to me, gives me a hand in the clinic now and then. And she is literally always talking about you. Can you imagine how annoying that is?”

“What an inconvenience for you,” Fenris spat out viciously.

“It really is,” Anders replied smoothly, crossing his arms. “Listen, the point is, any space between you and Hawke? You put it there, and you are the only one keeping it there. Why Hawke continues to hold on is absolutely beyond me, but she does, and she is ridiculously willing. So, here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to drag yourself off the pyre, stop making a damned martyr of yourself, and beg forgiveness from her before letting her have her way with you.”

Fenris’ ears were pulled back in surprise as Anders lectured him. It had never occurred to him that Hawke hadn’t carried a grudge, hadn’t thought him terrible for the things he’d done, for leaving her when they hadn’t even really started. He’d always been so ashamed, so repentant that he had left her that he had never entertained the idea of deserving her ever again. To his mind, kissing her tonight, trying to go further than he should have, was a high offense, because he hadn’t even apologized yet. What claim could he make for Hawke when he had not atoned for the last mistake?

“I… I didn’t—”

“Well, maybe you should,” Anders said, hands on his hips. “Maker knows I wish Hawke had chosen someone—anyone—else.”

“Like you?” Fenris said testily, raising an eyebrow.

“That fancy came and went long ago. I am more than happy to have her as a friend and nothing more. In fact, I now prefer it that way. But, no, I must suffer her talking relentlessly about you, and what is worse, I have to give her advice. I have to give her advice about you!”

“The atrocity of it,” Fenris said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

“And again, I have to wonder how you were ever a slave with your attitude.” Anders huffed. “So, what is it to be, elf? Are you going to freeze to death down here, or are you going to come up with me, forget that you ran away again, and make my friend happy?”

“Do I have a choice?” Fenris asked, standing up and brushing the dust off his clothes.

“You always have a choice. I would have just thrown a fireball at you if you had chosen wrong.”

“I hate you.”

“Likewise. Lead the way.”

Moving made Fenris realize how stiff the cold had made his bones, and he felt like an old, creaking house as he stood. He decidedly ignored that after a few steps of stiff limping, his cold seemed to melt away, as if by magic. Sometimes, the abomination could be tolerated.

They made their way up through the cellar door (Fenris snagged a bottle of wine before walking up) and walked through the library, Fenris’ stomach jumping with nerves as Anders pushed the door open.

“I have arrived!” Anders called, stepping into the main hall. Bodahn and Sandal had brought large chairs and cushions out for all to sit on in front of the fire, with little care for propriety. Normally, they would have been sat in the dining room, but Hawke seemed much more inclined to eat their dinner sitting in front of the fire, listening to Varric tell stories. It was helped along by the fact that Orana had made a thick, hearty soup, something she claimed her father had taught her to make. Their companions sat with bowls in their hands, eating with gusto, when Anders and Fenris walked in.

“My favorite rebel,” Hawke said grandly, seated sideways on a chair, her legs up over one arm. “And… Fenris.”

Awkwardly, with ears pulled back in a treacherous giveaway of his emotions, Fenris held out the bottle. “I… fancied some wine.”

“Found him down there pondering like a lady in a hat shop! Finally made him just pick one,” Anders said, walking over to the cushion Isabela was patting with her hand. He plopped down down next to her without any ceremony, lounging like the cats he was so fond of.

“It is harder to read in the dark,” Fenris said, going along with the lie, unsure of where to sit. He tapped his fingers against the bottle and looked around, wishing Isabela had not called Anders over to her.

“Here, let me scoot over, I’m taking up more room than a mabari,” Hawke said, pausing in the middle of her readjusting. “If… you’d like to sit with me.”

Fenris cleared his throat. “I have no objections.”

“Good,” Hawke said, scooting to one side. “Orana, if you would bring some bowls for Anders and Fenris? And a bottle opener. Do you need a glass?”

“Do I ever?” Fenris said, sitting down on the large chair next to Hawke. Despite how large the chair was and how slender Fenris was, he was still pressed flush against her; the roiling fire of shame burned in his stomach as Orana trotted over with a bowl and a bottle opener for him.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly, twisting the corkscrew into the bottle and yanking out the cork with a little more force than was necessary. He handed the corkscrew back, took the bowl from Orana, and drank three mouthfuls of the wine before turning to his bowl. The soup looked like something he’d eaten before in Minrathous, and he trusted Orana’s cooking, so he ate it without much caution.

“Don’t be selfish,” Hawke said, reaching for the bottle. He handed it to her, decidedly not touching her hand, and focusing on his soup while Hawke drank from the bottle and set it between them. Varric picked right back up with his story, his words dancing in the air, spinning a golden tale of heroes and lovers and triumph. As Fenris ate, he had to wonder who the story was based on. Varric could make up anything he wanted, but many of his stories were steeped in truth; it was a question for another day, surely.

The bowls were emptied and Orana took them to the kitchen to be washed, her cheeks and ears bright pink as all complimented her on her excellent cooking. She looked flustered and like she had no idea what to do with all the thanks she was receiving. Bodahn helped her with the bowls, and the room grew quiet again. Fenris was acutely aware of the way Hawke kept giving him sidelong glances, her eyes not harsh or critical, but soft and hopeful. They were going to kill him.

The silence was finally broken when Anders groaned loudly. “If I had a cat on my lap, this would be perfect!”

“I have a mabari,” Hawke offered, gesturing to the large dog that was curled up to the side of the fireplace.

“What kind of substitution is that? Maker, I miss having a cat.”

“I’ll get you one for your nameday,” Isabela said, gently elbowing the healer.

“Don’t make that promise if you don’t intend to keep it.”

“Just for that, I’m going to get you two.”

Anders sighed and stretched his arms out. “Bliss.”

This prompted Aveline to ask how safe he felt cats would be around the refugees. The discussion soon became loud and raucous as everyone joined in with their own opinions about how the refugees would behave around cats, complete with large hand gestures and laughter. Hawke listened and laughed along, but Fenris stayed quiet, plucking up the nerve to say something to the woman at his side.

Isabela was launching into a great detailed explanation of how Anders could cast warding spells in his clinic when Fenris took a long swig out of the bottle, the bitter wine sliding down his throat and filling his courage. Hawke leaned against the arm of the chair, her skin flushed with laughter, her body shaking. With a long breath, Hawke fell against the back of the chair, catching her breath as she looked up at the ceiling. After a long, embattled moment that Fenris felt took a lifetime, he reached over and nudged her with his knuckles.

“Hmm?” she said, still breathless. Her eyes sparkled in the firelight as she looked at him and Fenris almost found himself at a loss for words.

“I…” Fenris began, keeping his voice low under the cacophony of their shouting and laughing companions. “I apologize. For earlier. It was my fault.”

“It’s alright,” she replied, smiling. “We’re both adults, we’re both to blame here.”

“I’m just not—”

“You don’t owe me any explanation,” Hawke said, holding her hand out. “Can I simply ask… to hold your hand?”

Timidly, eyes glancing to their companions as if fearing anything they would say about his movement, Fenris slid his hand over and placed it in Hawke’s grip. She laced their fingers together and smiled at him, then turned back to their companions to join in the ruckus. Fenris stayed quiet, sure that Hawke could feel the pounding of his pulse under his skin, his insides twisting. The pull of her magic had the lyrium up to his wrist glowing with the faintest flicker and his hand felt like it was ensconced in velvet, despite the rough wear of Hawke’s skin, hands that had done more in the span of a few years than many would do in a lifetime. Her hands were strong in a different way than his own; where his were strong enough to destroy, hers were strong enough to create, the build and encourage and teach.

Fenris felt a sharp kick in his gut that demanded he bring her hand up to press his lips to her knuckles. He defied it by bringing the bottle to his lips instead, kissing the glass as he swallowed the red wine inside.

The night drew on; Fenris and Hawke finished the bottle (how much tolerance for drink did they have now?) and Fenris began to grow weary. Their companions seemed alright, save for Anders, who (despite the din of discussion) was dead asleep, an arm thrown over his eyes, ankles crossed, Isabela watching him closely, as if ready to shush any who would disturb him. Fenris could not help but feel amusement that Hawke’s mabari had managed to scoot close enough to use Anders’ thigh as a pillow for his own sleep; the irony was laughable. The only other person who seemed ready to doze was Merrill, who was not so used to the warmth and the fullness of Tevinter cooking. She leaned against Isabela’s back, eyes trained on Varric.

Or, at least, that’s what Fenris thought, until the grip on his hand loosened and Hawke took her hand away from his. A black hole of despair opened in his heart until pure, white light took its place when Hawke yawned and readjusted so she was strewn across Fenris’ lap, her head against his armrest and her legs stretched over the other. Unsure what to do, Fenris simply gave his hand back to her; she took it readily and listened to Varric with heavy-lidded eyes. After a minute, she huffed and poked at Fenris.

“You’re all stiff and not comfortable.”

“I’m sorry?” He hadn’t realized how tensely he’d been holding himself.

“You should get comfy, too. Here, just… no, go like this, with your leg—that’s the ticket, perfect. Hold it there.”

Fenris almost chuckled as Hawke rearranged him until he sat at an angle, his back in the corner of the chair with one leg up on the cushions, Hawke tucked neatly between his thighs, her torso half on his chest and half on the armrest. Her hand went right back into his when she became comfortable.

“Is this fine?”

“Yes,” he replied, needing no further discussion. Hawke smiled as her eyes slipped closed, her breathing steady and calm as she gave into an inevitable sleep. The only reason Fenris knew she didn’t sleep right away was because she would, with eyes still closed, laugh at the things Varric said. The steady tick of the clock near the wall seemed to pull down Fenris’ eyelids with its steady marching, and he found himself finally realizing how exhausting the day had been. Walking around in snow was ridiculous and tiring and Hawke had talked happily about wading through the white nonsense when it was as high as her waist.

Madness, he thought, as fatigue dulled his mind and sent him into a warm, comfortable sleep.

It was another hour before Isabela became aware of Merrill on her back, dead asleep and hands twitching, as if in a dream. The pirate looked at Varric. “Is this really how the day is going to end?”

“Looks that way, Rivaini. We’re dropping like flies, it seems.”

“Anders went first,” Sebastian said, hiding a yawn. “I saw him fall asleep. It was like he made the conscious decision.”

“I certainly don’t want to move anyone unnecessarily. Healing takes a lot out of Anders, after all, and he was probably exhausted when he got here.”

Varric nodded. “So, are we all going to pile up here, in the main hall?”

“And why not?” Isabela said, resisting the urge to shrug, lest she disturb Merrill. “I doubt Hawke or anyone else who lives here would mind much. And I certainly don’t want to walk back to Lowtown with how bloody cold it is outside.”

“Fair point enough, Rivaini. Well, then, we’ll stay. How about the happy couple?” Varric asked, looking at Aveline and Donnic.

“As much as spending more time with you all sounds wonderful, Donnic and I should get home.”

“Truthfully, I’d rather have my own bed than the floor,” Donnic said with an easy grin.

“I’ll stay,” Sebastian said, stretching. “The Chantry door is probably barred now anyway. And I, too, don’t want to walk in the snow.”

“Then I’ll go talk to Orana about some blankets and the like. You be nice to any bandits out there, guardsmen,” Varric teased as Aveline and Donnic stood to leave.

“We’ll offer them every courtesy the guard can,” Donnic replied easily, taking Aveline’s arm and walking her out of the estate. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear that caused her to giggle; Isabela wanted to gag.

When Varric returned with Orana, they were dragging more cushions (Isabela wondered where they were coming from) and piles of blankets. Isabela had a wicked smirk on her face when Orana bid them all goodnight and Varric waved her off.

“What is it you keep smiling at, Isabela?” Sebastian asked, arranging some cushions for him to sleep on.

“Oh, any number of things,” Isabela said smoothly, gingerly moving Merrill without waking her. “I could be smiling because I’m apparently a warm place to sleep on. I could also be smiling because I get to see you strip out of that armor.”

Isabela had never met anyone before in her travels who could fit an entire scolding lecture in the simple raise of an eyebrow before she’d met Sebastian. She hauled a pillow towards her and smiled. “Or, I could be smiling because of that little display.”

“What?” Sebastian said, looking towards where Isabela was gesturing. His eyes fell on the large chair Fenris and Hawke occupied; a smile equal to Isabela’s settled onto his face. “Well, look at that.”

Fenris and Hawke had both fallen fast asleep, and had shifted in their slumber to better accommodate their fit on the chair; the best way to do this was apparently to have Fenris pressed against the armrest of the chair with Hawke lying firmly against his chest, his arms wrapped around her tightly with a leg hooked over hers. Their heads were leaned together and they looked like an intricate knot of contrasting values. The lyrium in Fenris’ arms glowed a dim blue, barely visible in the firelight.

“You think they’ll ever figure it out?” Varric asked as Sebastian grabbed a blanket and walked it over to their chair.

“Do you want optimism or realism?” Isabela asked, throwing a large blanket over Merrill, intending fully to use it with her. Slim as she was, the Dalish mage absolutely radiated heat.

“Who’s to say those aren’t both the same thing?” Sebastian said, gently placing the blanket over Hawke and Fenris.

Varric snorted and set Bianca on a side table for safekeeping. “You’ve got way more hope than the rest of us, apparently.”

“I still put money on Hawke forcing Fenris to deal with it,” Isabela said, tucking a blanket around Anders. The mage sighed in his sleep and seemed to sink deeper into the cushion.

“I think Fenris will be the one to force change. Hawke won’t do anything unless they’re on his terms,” Sebastian said, acutely aware of the way Isabela watched him as he undid the clasps on his armor.

“And you know this how?”

“Do either of you actually listen when Hawke speaks?” Sebastian asked, chuckling. “She’s very big on Fenris’ choices.”

“Are you going to take everything off, or just the metal parts?” Isabela said suddenly, leaning her chin on her hand as Sebastian pulled off his chain mail and set it aside. With a wink, Sebastian pulled the hood of his tunic up over his eyes and went on his knees to pray before sleep. With a huff, Isabela took off her boots and necklace. “You are no fun.”

“Could be worse, Rivaini. He could be a flirt.”

“He is a flirt,” Isabela said, sliding under the blanket. Almost immediately, Merrill sought her out and latched onto her side. The warmth was welcome.

“I try not to be. Old habits, you know,” Sebastian said cheekily, grabbing a blanket and settling under it.

“One day, Sebastian. One of these blighted days I’m going to get you.”

“If that makes you feel better.”

Isabela scowled. “Just you wait.”

“Behave, children,” Varric said, relaxing on his cushion. “Go to sleep.”

“I’d be a lot happier if Sebastian was curled around me like Fenris is to Hawke over there,” Isabela mumbled dejectedly.

Sebastian chuckled. “Many women think that about me.”

“So help me—”

“To sleep now!” Varric said, snapping his fingers. Isabela huffed, but Sebastian retained his easy smile, even as he drifted off into sleep.

Isabela stayed quiet for a moment, then looked over at Varric. “Why do you think his lyrium glows like that?”

“Could be that he’s dreaming. It’s lyrium, it’s got something to do with the Fade. It could also be that being near Hawke makes it wake up, as it were. She is a mage, you know.”

“It is an interesting notion,” Sebastian mumbled sleepily, hands behind his head. “I think it could be a little bit of both.”

“Do you think he has to control it not to glow?” Isabela wondered out loud. “Like, if he’s not focusing on it, will it glow more brightly?”

“Wouldn’t that mean it should be glowing bright right now?” Varric said.

“Good point. I don’t know, there are just so many mysteries around it. I wish I knew more.”

Sebastian hummed. “It’s one of those things. We’d all love to know more, but we can’t know more, because no one really knows that much about it. I doubt even he knows why it does all that it does.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Isabela said.

“I actually think it would hurt to ask,” Varric chuckled. “I don’t think a fist in the chest would feel good.”

“Do you think they know?”

Isabela looked over at Sebastian. “Know what?”

Sebastian looked over at Hawke and Fenris. “Do you think they know how much they love each other?”

Isabela hummed and turned her eyes to the large chair where her companions were tangled. Hawke slept with a calm expression, but Fenris slept like he was troubled, with a knot between his brows. Hawke shifted in her sleep and the lyrium in Fenris’ arms pulsed once before quieting.

“Yeah,” Isabela finally said, smiling. “I think they do.”

“Let’s hope they stop ignoring it soon, the repression is killing me,” Varric said, chuckling. “Now, please, sleep.”

* * *

Hawke woke while it was still dark out. It was a temporary consciousness, one brought on by her body realizing it was not in a proper bed. The fire had burned low to embers and the bodies of her friends lay strewn about on cushions, sleeping like hibernating bears. Hawke couldn’t quite place the snoring, but she was almost sure it was Isabela.

The warmth emanating from the elf at her back had her smiling as she carefully readjusted in his arms, snuggling in closer with the blanket pulled around them a little tighter. In the morning, Fenris would make excuses and dash off, unable to look her in the eye, flat-out ignoring anything that had happened. Hawke knew he would. And she would give him the luxury, because he needed it.

So, she relished, for the moment, and fell back asleep to the steady beating of Fenris’ heart. The morning could wait just a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I played my Hawke (who, fun fact, is named Gry) as best friend soulmates with Anders. If anyone needs a soul sister, it's Anders.  
> Merry Christmas, you little jerks ^^


End file.
